of Cokes and creeks

I finally got acquainted with the Cook Springs general store-type establishment my dad has been raving about. To all appearances, a dingy little concrete block building with doubtful bathrooms and dusty Coke bottles. I can't explain why, but it makes me really happy. They have wrenches and heavy duty flashlights hanging next to stacks of peanut butter crackers (and beef jerky. This is a beef jerky kind of place). The best of all is the center aisle with those random decor items -constipated angel figurines and plaques with inscriptions like "Love is the hug that never lets go."

I still don't trust it enough to buy milk there, though.

When we bought our ice and left, there was a little boy playing in the creek beside the store. And I remembered the time when a creek (or, um, very clean sewer) equaled endless, unadulterated happiness. Sigh. The biggest gap in my childhood was the lack of an easily reached creek or stream (well, I did get to play in a "creek" when my brother was at t-ball practice. And one day my mom found me and yanked me out of the sewer in horror, and for months I was convinced I was going to get cancer). We had to make do with the little ditch in the alley behind out house. 

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In other news, Cook Springs and I are getting along well. I feel like I'm living in a Jane Austen novel, because people always ask, "And how are you liking life in the country?" I always get the urge to beam and cry out in my best Elizabeth Bennet, "Indeed, nothing could please me better!" But I really do love it here. I love the riot of orange day lilies growing around the mailboxes. I love the white horse in the field around the bend. I love the green barn across the road that peers over the crest of silken green hill. And I love how well I've gotten to know the moon, especially on nights like this one when it is full and low and golden.